


He Lives In You

by themidnightpost



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, angsty fluff, first fic in a long while please be nice!, if such a thing exists, not as dark as i could have made it so you're safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themidnightpost/pseuds/themidnightpost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“One night he decided he had enough.<br/>He took the steps one at a time, because for all of his wanting to discover what was behind his auditory hallucinations, he was just as nervous to learn about them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Lives In You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to the prompt “One character starts hearing another character’s voice in their head.” with Jean and Marco that fieryfilms requested on tumblr. I know I said I’d write 1K words tops but then this just kept unwinding and I know the ending is a bit abrupt, but if I didn’t stop somewhere, I WOULD HAVE JUST KEPT GOING AND GOING YOU DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND.  
> Also this is the first fic I’ve cranked out in over five years and my writing is extremely rusty, so please treat me kindly!

     The hardest thing to be told is to move on.

     In his line of work, that was what had to be done. Every day—soldiers and civilians alike—ran the risk of being devoured by the titans. That risk however was doubled— no, more tripled for those who pledged their hearts to humanity’s cause. And they both knew what lay in the job description since day one of their training in the 104th trainees corps. Or at least, Jean assumed he did.

     He will never know whether Marco thought the same way.

 

     Or at least, Jean assumed he wouldn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

     Even with all the chaos and death brought on by the attack on Trost, the military still intended to give their newest recruits a proper graduation ceremony during which the choice between the Garrison and the Survey Corps would be given; with the exception of the Military Police to any of the top ten graduates.

      Jean already knew he wanted in with the MPs as soon as absolutely possible. There really wasn’t any reason to willingly add himself to the ever-growing death toll if he had the choice to retreat to guaranteed comfort and safety. And as far as he was concerned, the battle he had just survived did nothing to change his plans. After all, was there really anyone who would ever choose death over life?

     Those thoughts continued to spin around one another as he stared into the bonfire in which their fallen comrades’ bodies burned. The fact that he could no longer even tell whether the bone fragments he held in his hand were Marco’s or not was insistently jabbing at the inside of his skull, at the very edge of the whirlwind that his mind was right now. It only grew in strength with each despondent thought that slipped into his mind.

      Jean never wanted to see anyone die, least of all his closest friend. He knew that was a risk they had to take, yet it was a distant notion, something vague and unreal like a dream he could scarcely remember. That had crashed down with a resounding blow the moment Jean was asked to identify Marco’s body, and since then he despaired over what he was supposed to do with himself now. The Military Police was still within reach, and offered everything he ever wanted— hell, everything that spurned him to even sign up in the first place.

     But then, what would Marco have died for? For his best friend to flee in terror to be granted the express privilege of never seeing another titan again for so long as he lived? For him to line his new apartments with bouquets of cowardice and stuff his piles of cushions with the mounting sacrifices of his former comrades? No, of course Marco would have had higher hopes for Jean. For him to fight until his very last breath for humanity’s liberation. No more, and no less.

_But not everyone is as eager to die as you._

     Almost as if in response to the latest addition to the anguished tornado wreaking havoc in Jean’s head, Marco let himself in as easily as he did in life.

_I hope you won’t get mad at me when I say this…but you aren’t a strong person. So you can immediately relate to how the weak feel. In addition, you excel in sizing up any situation. Isn’t that why you immediately know what should be done?_

     Of course these words were nothing new. Marco had offered them to him at another point in time when Jean was in danger of sinking below the surface of the dread that was flooding his head. Nonetheless, they had the same effect that a flesh-and-blood Marco by his side speaking them for the first time would have. Knitting his brows and clenching his fists in a determination that was the only thing carrying him above a paralyzing panic that threatened to pull him back down, Jean knew that there was no renegating on his decision. For better or for worse, he was going to follow what Marco would have advised him to do. What he himself would have done.

     “I…I’m joining the Survey Corps!”

     No one there faulted him for the choked sobs that pushed their way past his unwilling throat.

 

* * *

 

 

     However, the time for mourning had passed all too soon, and Jean was expected to devote all his energy, emotional and otherwise, towards making himself as useful as possible to the Survey Corps—and by extension—what remained of humanity.

     So long as he kept himself focused on whatever happened to be in front of him and resolutely shut off from everything else, Jean remained in acceptable form and readily followed any commands sent his way. It was almost easy, he found, to keep his mind blissfully silent and narrowed upon only one—

_I miss you._

     Jean drew his horse to a grinding halt, barely hearing the disgruntled neigh it gave him at the unexpected action. His eyes had widened to incredible proportions, unable to believe his ears, or at least what he had briefly taken to be them.

_That couldn’t have been— That is, how could I have heard Marco just now?_

     “Jean, what are you doing back there? Did you see something?”

     The aforementioned soldier slowly processed his fellow’s words, head distractedly turned in such a way that would have understandably suggested him sighting something out of the ordinary. However, it was not a visual change that had garnered his attention.

     “…no, nothing.”

     He remained silent for the rest of the ride, only deciding that he must have imagined Marco’s voice once he dismounted back at the castle headquarters and resolved to put the brief incident out of his mind.

 

     The next several days brought several snatches of Marco’s voice into Jean’s head, and with them, a steadily disintegrating sense of certainty that they were slips of memory. For one thing, Jean honestly could not recall ever hearing Marco tell him the best shortcut through the castle to the mess hall whenever he was running late for training, how he was glad that Jean was bonding well with his horse, or especially on how he looked good with the wings of freedom on his back. Most of all, Jean swore to everything he held sacred that Marco never whispered the same short message into his ear as he fell asleep.

_Keep fighting. I miss you._

     One night he decided he had enough. Instead of heading towards his bunk after finishing his nighttime routine, Jean opted to tread down a hall that led to a narrow winding staircase. He took the steps one at a time, because for all of his wanting to discover what was behind his auditory hallucinations, he was just as nervous to learn about them. At the top of the stairs, Jean pushed against a wooden door, which he was somewhat surprised to find unlocked. On the other side lay a ledge sandwiched between the battlements and the wall that held the floors that rose higher still. He walked steadily along that ledge, unsure both of where to continue walking to and how to open the conversation he needed to happen.

     “Marco? So, uhm…hey.”

_Hello, Jean._

     Jean froze in his tracks again. As much as he had perhaps been growing used to his friend’s voice taking up residence in his mind, he was unprepared for receiving an answer of any kind.

     “What is going on? Why do I suddenly hear your voice as if you were here? I mean, not that I mind—”

_It’s okay, Jean. You don’t have to worry about the how and why._

     Marco’s voice then fell silent for a time, and Jean almost thought that he was waiting for a response of some sort before it began again.

_I wanted to make sure that you were alright. That you were taking care of yourself and moving forward. Are you, Jean?_

     “Why are you asking me that? Can’t you see everything I do now?”

     And there it was, Marco’s soft, bright laughter. Jean did not even know whether or not to fight how he felt his cheeks warm a little at the sound, and found himself leaning against the wall behind him.

_I want to hear it from you, though. You need to open up a little bit more, after all._

     “I’m plenty open!”

_We both know the answer to that!_

     Jean let out a loose sigh, only vaguely noting the battlements before him and the trees that swayed in the breeze beyond them.

     “…I’m doing fine. More than fine, great! I’ve gotten so much better at mobilizing my gear, and Jaegar is going to eat my dust before he even knows what hit him!”

_I am sorry for Eren, then! I’m glad to hear that you are doing okay._

     “Yeah…what about you, though? Are you taking up permanent residence in my head, or?”

_That’s up to you to decide, Jean._

     Jean tilted his head backwards until the back of his head tapped against stone with a slight _thump_. His previous view was now replaced with the starry night sky above him, and he realized with a jolt that he had already found a group of stars that almost perfectly mimicked Marco’s freckles.

     “…is there a catch to wanting you to stay around?”

_That is also something you have to figure out for yourself._

     “Are you even real? Or am I really just that crazy that I don’t even know when I’m fooling myself anymore?”

_Who is to say that anything else in this world isn’t real? I’m as real as you believe me to be._

     “Agh, can’t you just tell me what you mean!?”

_I did. If your belief in me is real enough, then so am I._

     Jean sighed again, this time his body racking a bit as it released a tension he did not even know he was carrying within himself. So this was about as far as he was going to get then, huh? At least he knew who to go to if he ever figured out just what the hell was going on with Marco and himself.

     “Well, I’m going to bed now, Marco. You can come along if that prospect sounds _real_ enough for you.”

     Again with the resulting laughter. There was definitely no fighting the knowledge that Jean’s cheeks were dusted with a slight pink upon hearing it.

     He managed to keep his thoughts relatively quiet as he made his way back down to his bunk, not wanting to break the spell under which he could feel Marco walking beside him, all sunshine and freckles and constant kindness.

     “Good night.” Jean whispered as he climbed underneath his blanket, glad that the other men bunking in the same room were already asleep and thereby unable to hear him.

_Good night, Jean. Keep fighting._

     As he slowly drifted into sleep, Jean almost missed what he could have sworn was a warm hand brushing his bangs back to place a kiss on his forehead.

_I miss you._

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone points this out, I know it is far from physically possible for a voice in your head to be able to do anything like walk by you or kiss you goodnight; I just wanted to illustrate this completely from Jean's point of view, especially considering what he heard Marco tell him near the end of the night.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Toodles~


End file.
